The Tears Of A Killer

Prologue

Fri 13 Jan, 2017

The gray concrete walls dripped a dark, unknown stain from the rims of the ceiling. The tiled floor, uneven and discoloured as it was, it was all I had at one point. That point when I came here. When I lost my so called 'freedom', and now, blood pooled beneath my frail, lying figure. It had once gushed from the open wound my right shoulder bared but by now, the flow slowed, as did my movements. I reached to place my skeletal hand upon my forehead, feeling my blood soaked hair and peeled the tatted mud coloured strands from my skin. I then parted my cracked, pale lips. I remember one last gaze in which I directed at my right to see my ice-white skin, scars, the last of my blood leave my body and a faint laugh exited my mouth, shortly followed by the last breath I ever exhaled.

As my heavy, bruised eyes closed for the final time, my memories played in my head. Seeing your own life before your eyes can be unsettling yet joyful at the same time. At least I found it that way.

I could have had a worse life. I mean, I enjoyed it. Whilst it lasted. Born Stephanie Millers; and died as 'Psycho Steph' in this very asylum cell. My last words were a laugh after all. That psychotic laugh of mine.